Life's a Gas, Cas!
by La La Loopsy Lou
Summary: Castiel stumbles across a young woman who is strongly considering suicide. Rated for language and subject matter.


At first, it seemed to be a good idea.

120 feet tall, the guidebook said. One of her mother's uncles – her great-uncle, she supposed – had chosen Vista Bridge as his final stage, joining a handful of others who'd chosen it as such in the 1980's.

Even now, there was a fence erected, a sort of would-be barrier, but there were ways around it. There had been that boy a few months back – he likely hadn't intended it, but he'd fallen from the Bridge all the same, after the shot – and his exit had inspired her to go to Vista, too.

Most people went to the Golden Gate, Coronado, or the George Washington Memorial Bridge. Those were too cliché, and she could not afford the bus fare to San Fran. Likewise, she didn't feel like driving to Seattle, so Vista it was. It just also happened to be the closest, the most convenient.

A sudden breeze cut through, and she pulled her hood up to shield her face from the unexpected chill. Hot as it was back home, she always wore the hoodie, thick, black, and comfortable. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken it off, the last time she'd bathed. Had it been three days or four? Maybe even more. Not that it really mattered, especially tonight.

"Hey," a gruff voice suddenly addressed her. "What do you think you're doing?"

The voice startled her, but she quickly regained her composure and turned to look at her new companion: a tall, somewhat lanky man wearing, of all things, a dark blue terry cloth bathrobe and a pair of _geta_. She wondered what kind of crazy person walked around dressed like that, but then again, who was she to judge?

The man cleared his throat, expecting an answer to his question; clearly indicating that he wasn't going to leave without one. She sighed in heavy resignation and sat down, dangling her legs out over the bridge. The man followed suit, reaching into his robe pocket for a small metal flask.

_Great, she was being watched by a damn drunk!_ She scooted a few inches away from the man, which he thankfully didn't seem to notice. He screwed the top off the flask and took several deep, quick swigs. He belched, and she could smell the whisky on his breath, so powerfully that she almost gagged.

She chose to breathe through her mouth for the duration of their time together, however long that would be.

Another swig, another belch, and the man tossed the flask over the bridge. The girl cringed at the faint sound of impact as the flask landed on the street below. What was her problem? It was just a freaking flask! It'd make more of a mess when _she_ jumped off, spilling her brains and limbs and innards all over the goddamn place. _That's what I came here to do, damnit, and I'm gonna _do_ it! _But how was she to explain herself to this stranger, bumbling and plastered as he was?

_Just say it,_ _that's all._ "I'm gonna jump, sir."

The man coughed wetly and wiped the mucus on his sleeve. She made a mental note not to allow him to touch her with that hand, if he felt the need to touch her at all. God, she hoped not . . .

"What did you say? You're going to _jump off_?"

"Yes."

"But . . . why?" The man cocked his head to one side, a gesture that reminded her of an inquisitive dog. He didn't sound particularly hammered, pretty coherent, actually. He didn't seem to be angry or upset, but genuinely curious. As if they were discussing whether or not she should buy a certain item, or not.

"Don't ask me. It's hard to put into words, I — damnit, I came here well and ready to do what I gotta do, and you're distracting me!" She sounded much sharper than she'd intended, and the man's hurt look did not escape her notice.

"Look, wait, that's not what I meant. I want you here, that's fine. However long you want, okay? No rush."

"Okay," the man replied, his voice gentle and almost sheepish. He pulled his legs up and crossed them under him, slipping off the _geta_ to sit more comfortably. "I did not intend to disturb you," he grunted and coughed again. Again, he wiped his hand on his robe. "If I had known someone would be out here, I wouldn't have landed here."

_Um, okay. . ._

"If it's okay for me to ask: what are _you _doing here?" she asked as tactfully as she could manage, but it still came out sounding rude and bitchy. _You are so rude and mean; you're a bitch!_

Her mother, her so-called 'best friend,' her sister-in-law. Any one of them, and all of them, had said some variation of that phrase in the last month. She wondered if they'd be sorry to find out she had jumped, when the coroner opened the black bag to identify her remains. What must it be like to be a mother, having to identify the maimed shell that was left of her child, and have to put it in the ground?

Her mother would be sad, she supposed, if only because broken despondence was the expected reaction when one's child committed suicide. _Oh my God, I cannot imagine what you must be going through! Poor dear . . ._

"Do you believe in God?" the woman asked impulsively. She brought her legs up and turned to face the man, resting her hands on her lap. The man's beautiful blue eyes seemed to brighten, if that was even possible. "Of course," he answered bluntly. "Don't you?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was raised in church, and I loved the stories, but . . . that's all they really are, aren't they? Just stories."

"Uh – if that's what you believe, there's no way I can convince you otherwise."

"Would you, if you could?"

"Yes, I would."

"So . . . you never answered my question."

"Hmm?"

"About why you're here?"

"Oh, right. Well, like you it's a bit – difficult to explain. In simplest terms, someone very close to me passed away, and I am still mourning his loss."

"Oh, that sucks. Sorry. Was he a jumper?"

"I don't think so, most of the time he preferred regular walking – _oh!"_ he said when he got her meaning. "No no, he didn't kill himself. He was stabbed – murdered."

"That really sucks! I guess it doesn't matter what you do, in the end your life is gonna end, anyway. Why not take it yourself, you know?"

"No, I don't know. But it is true that life is fragile, the light so easily extinguished . . . even knowing how frail humans are, I still took him for granted. He's been a part of my life –no, it's more accurate to say he _was_ my whole life – for the past six years."

The woman nodded empathetically, choosing to ignore the strange way he referred to 'humans' as if they were somehow a separate species. It was possible that this guy didn't consider himself a human, and weird as that was, she had actually met others who likewise denied their humanity.

"That's awful; I'm so sorry for your loss." She said, because really, what else was there to say? People died every day, in all kinds of shitty situations. Just because someone loved a person did not guarantee that they could always be protected. The man sniffed abruptly, stifling a sob, and cleared his throat again before asking "What happened to you to make you want to die?"

"I can't pinpoint a single cause. As long as I can remember, I've been ridiculed, mocked, made to feel no better than a piece of shit on the ground. All the names people called me over the years, they stuck to me."

"Speaking of names, what is yours? If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind, as long as you'll tell me yours too. My name's Casey."

"Ah, Kay-see," he murmured, drawing her name out as if trying some new, unfamiliar language. "That is very similar to my name . . ."

"Which is what?"  
"Cas. My name is Cas."

"Really," Casey nodded, admiring the simplicity of it. "Cas, huh?"

"Yes. It's a nickname, really – given to me by my friend who died. My real name's basically that, with a couple syllables added."

"And what is that name? With the couple syllables added?"

"You know, I'm going to keep that one to myself. I'll just have to tell you the next time I see you."

"But you aren't gonna see me again!" Casey almost whined and clung to the sleeve of his robe, slick with his mucus. _Oh_. She'd forgotten that little detail . . . _Eh, fuck it._

Cas put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye as if asking for permission. Casey nodded, and then she was enveloped in Cas's arms, burying her face against his neck. He didn't smell so bad after all. "Are you still going to jump?"

Cas's breath brushed softly across her face, rustling the dark tendrils of hair that had slipped out from under the hood. "I don't know," Casey faltered, her voice a tremulous whisper. "I mean, that's really what I came out here for."

"Couldn't you do that later? You can come here anytime and do that. I'll make you a deal: you stay here with me, don't jump tonight, and I'll tell you my full name."

"Okay . . ."

Suddenly, there was another rush of air, and Cas literally began to rise from the ground. Casey gasped and clenched her eyes shut, trembling all over as Cas hovered in midair. Casey felt his lips brush her ear as he quietly murmured for her not to be afraid.

"My name is Castiel," he said solemnly, and slowly descended until his feet were again resting on the bridge. He gingerly set Casey down, as if afraid she were made of china and would break into a thousand pieces.

He figured that was not too far from the truth.

He slipped the _geta_ sandals back onto his feet and smiled at her, pointing toward the faint beginnings of dawn painting the dusk.

"You have kept your promise, Casey, as I have kept mine. I cannot force you to do anything, but I hope that you will realize that, as hard as it can be sometimes, your life is precious and ultimately worth living. If you should ever need me, all you have to do is call on me, and I will come to you wherever you are."

"Cas, wait!" Casey cried and reached out toward him, but in an instant he was gone.

* * *

A/N: This short story was a sort of therapeutic exercise for me. I was devastated when I thought that Dean had been killed, and that he is alive, albeit as a demon, is a great consolation.

Castiel's attire is an eclectic mix, but I wanted him to appear to be in disarray in his grieving. As far as I can tell, he still believes that Dean is dead, and I am really looking forward to seeing the dynamic between them in the next season. :)


End file.
